


Oh Soldier?

by TheMalapert



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Folk Tales, Love & Marraige, Right now, Silly, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Kisses, Soft Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Songfic, When will Geralt return from war, technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:01:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26907034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMalapert/pseuds/TheMalapert
Summary: Geralt returns home after his long years at war, and Yennefer finds a handsome soldier riding up to her manor.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Kudos: 2





	Oh Soldier?

Yearning was a bitch of an emotion, and Yennefer wished she could ignore it as well as she ignored Jaskier’s chattering. She was grateful to him but also grateful when quiet once again crept back into the house after his departure. Though, with a daughter like Ciri one never knew how much peace the household would have. The perfect child one day and magical hellion the next. Yennefer wouldn’t have it any other way.

As always happened on lazy days, her thoughts roamed to Geralt. She held no illusions about why she sat in her second story window at the very corner of the house, windows wide open for the crisp autumn air. It was the best vantage point to see down the road. She often found Ciri asleep here and had installed a lovely window nook so they could watch with ease. It seemed only weeks after they all worked out their shit that the war had consumed their lives. Yennefer could hardly miss what she never had, hence the all-consuming _yearning._ Ciri was practically a woman now. Sometimes, Yennefer thought about storming down to the front lines and seeing what was taking so damn long. But they agreed. Yennefer had obligations away from fighting, and she would be the best to teach Ciri to control her power. 

It was just so fucking frustrating. 

Yennefer tried to focus on her book, but a shadow down the road caught her attention. She squinted, leaning up from her many pillows. A soldier on a horse tore into the courtyard. He jumped off the mare’s back, skidding to a stop in the gravel of the walkway. Yennefer tossed her book to the floor and leaned out the window. 

“Oh, soldier?” She called, grinning wickedly. “Won’t you marry me? With your swords and crossbow, and I’m sure you have a drum somewhere in all that.”

Geralt grinned and twirled. “I’m afraid, sweet maid—“ Yennefer snorted. “—I cannot marry you. I have no coat to wear for the occasion.”

Yennefer stuck a finger to her chin and sized Geralt up. He was broad but lean, many nights of scarce meals taking their toll. He had a new scar to his face, and he now sported a beard. Yennefer drew her fingers in lazy air circles, and a fine coat appeared around his shoulders. A dark charcoal to complement his aesthetic, it cinched a little in the back to emphasize his muscular chest. He smiled, inspecting his new garment. It was of the highest quality. 

“Will you now marry me? Swords and drum and new coat?” She shifted to sit on the windowsill, drawing her skirt up to expose her thighs. 

“Oh, my dear lady, I cannot marry you,” he said, approaching the base of the window. “For I have no fine boots to put on.” 

Yennefer’s gaze dropped to his mud coated boots. They were the boots of a soldier, mass produced and leaky. She waved her hand again, and a pair of artisan boots replaced the old ones. They had deep treads for good traction and a coating of steel over the toe. She fit them perfectly to his shapely calves, and he twisted to get a look at them. 

“Soldier, won’t you marry me? I’ve given you the finest coat and boots,” she crooned. Geralt, a shine to his golden eyes, began to climb the thick ivy that coated the building. 

“Dear, sweet maid,” Geralt said as he scaled towards Yennefer’s window. “I cannot marry you. Without proper gloves, I would be quite the embarrassment.”

Yennefer rolled her eyes, and in between one vine and the next, Geralt’s hands were fitted with a black pair of Woodstock gloves. A soft, supple leather, they would keep him warm and serve enough for fashion.

“Now in all earnestness, Soldier. Won’t you marry me?” Yennefer spread her legs, and Geralt pulled himself up between them. 

“That would be quite impossible, my lady, as I’ve a wife and daughter at home,” he grinned. 

Yennefer buried her hand in his hair and growled, “Bastard.”

His laughter tasted foreign against her lips, and she resolved herself to relearn every small thing she’d forgotten. His beard scratched pleasantly against her chin, and she reached up to trace his face, to prove this wasn’t a dream. He pressed forward hungrily, getting a knee onto the windowsill, then another. He backed her onto her little nook. 

“Perfect, we’re already in bed,” he chuckled, gathering her legs around his waist. 

“We wanted to be sure to see you when you returned,” Yennefer said. Geralt paused his ravishing of her neck to gaze into her violet eyes. 

“I’m so sorry.” Geralt dropped his forehead to hers. His fingers twisted in her sundress. 

“All that matters is you’re here,” she breathed. She waved her hand, and the task of disrobing was suddenly a non-issue. The light returned to Geralt’s eyes, and he looked astonished down at his own naked body. 

“My pretty things!” He cried. 

Yennefer reached between them, making her husband groan. “I prefer _this_ pretty thing.”

“Impatient as that first time,” Geralt said softly. She captured his lips again, the magnetic force too powerful to deny. They enjoyed each other’s bodies for a moment, reverent hands exploring and kisses landing everywhere. Yennefer truly was the inpatient one, but there was something she needed to say before she got lost in her husband. 

“I don’t know if I’ll want to be in earshot when she finds out you’re home,” Yennefer said, and she trailed her fingers over a new shoulder scar. Geralt’s smile faltered. “She’s at the village now, but she’s always back for supper.”

Geralt ducked underneath her chin to suck a dark lovebite. “How will I know it’s her?”

Yennefer pulled him up by his hair. She locked gazes with him until that outer veneer crumbled, his brow twitching together and the insecurity shining in his eyes. 

“She’ll let you know,” Yennefer said. 

Geralt fell on her again, drowning his thoughts in tongues and teeth and flesh— _his wife_ , in his arms again. 

Ciri’s arm was tiring from carrying the basket full of their butcher’s order. She shifted it to the other arm, propping it against her hip, and she knew she’d have to repeat it in a minute. She could spy the window open, and as she walked, she could see someone in their reading nook. Yennefer didn’t like reading by evening light. The shadows grew too long to not strain her eyes on the page, but it was, in her words, much too light outside to light a lamp already. Ciri squinted, the muscular calf dangling from the window coming into focus. And a bare ass. And—

Ciri dropped the basket. The ants could have their ham for all she cared. It took a second for her limbs to work, but then she was at the window the next heartbeat. 

“Put some pants on right now!” She screamed, startling her parents above. They rolled out of the window, cursing and scrambling. Ciri had half a mind to portal into the room when her father, thankfully dressed, came vaulting from the second floor. He landed with a huff just next to her, and they tackled each other to the ground. 

“That’s my lion cub!” Geralt laughed as Ciri pinned him to the dirt. 

She did a frantic check—all limbs, both eyes, fingers and toes. She grabbed his beard and tugged his face from side to side, Geralt flinching with each rough pull. He brushed her hands off, and he gathered her into another hug. 

“I’m alright,” he said. “I’m home.”

Ciri let out a sob, and suddenly, they were in the reading room at Yennefer’s feet. Geralt felt only slightly woozy. 

“That’s one way to get him inside,” Yennefer said, joining the dog pile on the floor. 

After a long while, Geralt said, “I have to go take care of Roach. No telling where she’s wandered off.”

Ciri and Yennefer let him up, though their hands never quite left. 

“Okay, lets go,” Ciri said, and she took his arm. Geralt smiled, pressing a kiss to her hair. He swept out his unoccupied arm, bowing towards his wife. 

“Shall we make it a family outing?” He pumped his eyebrows at her, and she laughed while she smacked his arm. But she took it. 

“I think we shall.” Yennefer squeezed her husband’s hand and couldn’t help the eye-crinkling smile when Ciri launched into a summary of her training so far. 

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn’t leave this AU alone, so here is Geralt’s POV.   
> I guess this is my first songfic?? Does choral music count?? Idea based on “Soldier, Soldier Won’t You Marry Me” arr Robert De Cormier. What can I say? I’m a slut for rewriting shit.  
> Check out the song: https://open.spotify.com/track/06qB4FOVbbojtgy5WNEsXJ?si=gnyzSQ1-TpOFe_GUFT_Z2Q


End file.
